


Tempus Est

by yingfei



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 3 Things, Allegory, Alternia, Alternia is Terrible, Alternia-Focused, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, AraSol if you Squint, Before During After, Blood, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, F/M, God Tier (Homestuck), Highbloods Being Assholes (Homestuck), Implied Relationships, Introspection, Latin, Lowblooded Trolls (Homestuck), Maid of Time God Tier, Metaphors, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Minor Sollux Captor/Aradia Megido, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Past Character Death, Past Present Future, Past Relationship(s), References to Hamlet, References to Ophelia, References to Shakespeare, Shakespearean Language, Shakespearean Sonnets, Shakespearean Tragedy, Social Commentary, Temporary Character Death, Tempus Est, Way Too Many Tags for Such a Short Fanfic LMAO, arasol - Freeform, bourgeoisie, mentions of vriska serket - Freeform, ophelia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yingfei/pseuds/yingfei
Summary: Her past was naive, her present is violent, and her future will be bright. (Or, Aradia before, during, and after the worst period of her life. 3 times fanfic—450 words for each snippet. Angst. Sad. References to Ophelia and Hamlet. Implied AraSol.)(Originally uploaded on FF.net on September 23 of this year.)
Relationships: Sollux Captor/Aradia Megido
Kudos: 5





	Tempus Est

**Author's Note:**

> (This was originally uploaded on my FF literally one month ago aka September 23.)

* * *

**TEMPUS EST**

_By Yingfei_

© September 2020.

* * *

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_"It is important for people to know that no matter what lies in their past, they can overcome the dark side and press on to a brighter world."_ —Dave Pelzer.

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

* * *

**i: ophelia**

ARADIA MEGIDO HAD ALWAYS BEEN an adventurous little rust blood, and thus running in a quick fashion was never a foreign concept to her, but never did she run as fast as she did when she got a pesterchum from Sollux—her kinda morail kinda matespirit _(oh, the complication of tween troll relationships!)_ who was a bit of a shut-in—that he had decided to finally come out of his hive to visit her.

When her ballerina-slippered feet stopped their roaming on the great green grass around her dwellings, she had flashed her signature grin and lifted up her eyes full of awe and excitement at her yellow-blooded companion who had accustomed himself up in the air—

What awaited her, rather than a playfully annoyed expression (upward eyebrows, grinning mouth) behind red and blue lensed-glasses, however, were the cackling sparkles of red and blue that omitted from an angered face (furrowed eyebrows, honey-dripped frown).

Perhaps it was her naiveness that the dear hacker would never lay an ill intent upon her, or rather perhaps her paranoia of both what the male troll was and was not capable of, but she stood there, and as if there was a tree's trinket in front of her that she'd climb to somehow calm or talk down with her fellow troll, the female grasped at the air, and her hands reached for his that were so, so far away...

**†**

_Quo tempore illa chanted capit vetus tunes;_

_Ut unum natum de sua angustia,_

_Vel sicut creatura patria et indued_

_Ad quod elementum: sed diu non posset esse_

_Donec ut ejus vestes, gravis, cum eorum bibendum,_

_Viverra curabitur pauperes wretch ab ea mihi ponere_

_Ad lubricus mortem._

**†**

_Thy Megido a doom'd maiden, at which hour the sparks pi'rc'd thy soft flesh—_ the ends of her skirt slashed with the markings of uncontrolled electricity as mahogany spewed from the freckles on her gray arms and her heaved chest, and it all was finalized by her whole body pummeled to the ground in a current of her own blotchy, widespread cruor.

Before her last breath, she believed she heard the confused, regretful screams of Sollux; she opened her mouth and tried to let out _"Why, Sollux, why?",_ but all the syllables and teeth-touched words were silent as thick, besmirched currant was the only thing that left her cut lips—

The smell of the chrysanthemums and spider lilies around her ensanguined hair, said flowers the only things that were not either covered with or with the aura of rusted metal, were the last things she recalled before not only obsidian awaited her but many undead forms that failed, in vain, to be a replacement for what she once was.

* * *

**ii: detachment**

The canyons in this section of Alternia: an environment for red and bronze bloods who can seek the closest thing Alternia has to a hiding spot from Imperial Drones who seek sexual fluids of the two most lust-circulating quadrants but shall receive nothing in return or, for low-blooded trolls like Aradia Megido, a breathtaking, capacious dwelling to explore and discover.

Their immeasurable heights and hundreds of holes to sneak into and chug a rope in—at least, the ones that did not hide grub-having Lusii whom watch the verizon clandestinely for the single moment where a troll comes too close and becomes the next meal for their little larvae to feast upon—and the lack of high-blood trolls who go around other areas to pressure a low or mid-blood troll into a matespritship or kismesissitude is the final bullet point for many trolls low on the hierarchy scale to consider such an area a "nirvana" of sorts.

Once, Aradia Megido was one of those trolls.

_Once._

Presently, however, Aradia Megido—or, rather, _Aradiabot_ —does not consider herself one of those trolls. No, she cannot consider herself a troll at all, anymore—what normal troll lives not only as a ghost and frog spirit but, of all things, in a robotic suit that circulates blood many hues too high and intermediate between green and violet to ever be hers?

_(Get it out get it out get it out get it out get it out get it out—)_

Aradiabot scowls as she glances down at the smears of blue sangre on the metal of her hands. Never has she been so enraged and furious at cerulean and indigo bloods before now.

It is no secret that because she bled mahogany, because she is the lowest on the disgusting hemospectrum, because she is beneath the Trollian bourgeoisie, because she was Aradia Megido who used to smile and make moirails over enemies or culling victims, she was and is treated so terribly—and it is no secret that she no longer will stand for it.

Empty and hollow of her original self, Aradiabot may be, but she shalln't longer be a pawn of the Alternian ways of discord and misery.

**†**

_O, quid nobile mentis est, hic o'erthrown!_

_In courtier scriptor, miles suus, scolari's oculo, lingua, gladium,_

_Th' spe et rosa pulchra statu,_

_In ultricies modum et formam ex forma,_

_Th' observari omnes observatores, satis, satis descendit!_

**†**

The landscape of certain sections of Alternia are known for their separation from the strict blood laws that have turned trolls against their own moirails and matesprits for centuries—and these landscapes were once an environment of opportunities for Aradia Megido.

_Once._

For _Aradiabot,_ however, it is the gorge of the oppressed and martyrs.

* * *

**iii: resurrection**

Aradia eyes Bec Noir coming and she smiles. This is a moment she literally died and was reborn once more to witness.

Noir aims to be off with _his and her and their head!_ on every one of Aradia's gray-skinned, yellow sclera having, black-haired, candy-corn horned friends—something that time shall not, in the upcoming seconds and minutes and hours, allow an existence.

How many timelines will he go after if he survives? How many timelines has he already made drip and drop and _drip drip drop dro_ p a colossal rainbow of liquid?

This is an answer that Aradia knows— _dozens and dozens and dozens—_ and an answer that she knows should not count her current timeline, where her skin is gray and her mouth is in a grin and from her hands omits her finest fervency of time and motion that she herself serves _—and obeys—_ but does not whimper over.

The past mistakes and the present errors must not be continued; this timeline is the timeline that will progress fully. The edge of a stained and matter covered weapon shall not strike at this future.

Yes, Bec Noir will not continue his tyranny in this timeline. No, he will instead be _frozen_ in this timeline—

(She can already envision herself grinning even more like a mad man, and that witchery scarlet red circles will entrap the canine-headed slayer, as her digits shall weave and implicate around his lean obsidian body in a way similar to the ensnarement The Handmaiden attempted on Her Imperious Condescension and Damara Megido's entrapment of Meenah Peixes, except unlike her ancestor and dancestor, Aradia shall succeed.)

_Tempus Est._

The hands that tick and tick for Bec Noir's duration of his bloodshed must now be gridlocked.

Aradia Megido, the Maid of Time, the chrono manipulator, the ram-horned fairy—the 6 sweeps old troll who has been a troll, a frog spirit, a ghost, a blue-blooded robot and now a red-covered fae who is the mistress of even the most fickleness of time, much now lay down the dog (and thus servant of that white-skinned queen) who was too smart for his own good.

She will then release him and vanish—leaving the winged monstrosity of destruction and eradication in the nullity while she, the winged embodiment of creation and preservation, will continue on to one of the many things connected to time.

 _You're done with dying,_ Aradia will tell herself when she reaches that big, bright green and glowing moon, _and soon, there are friends that will arrive and will need your help._

…

Aradia raises her hands and claws her fingers down as much as possible just as Bec Noir's about to swipe down on her with his imbrued sword.

**[FIN.]**

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**Author's Note:**

> **[TRANSLATIONS:]**
> 
> **1:**  
>  _"Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;  
>  As one incapable of her own distress,  
> Or like a creature native and indued  
> Unto that element: but long it could not be  
> Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,  
> Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay  
> To muddy death."_  
> —Gertrude
> 
>  **2:**  
>  _"O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!  
>  The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword,  
> Th' expectation and rose of the fair state,  
> The glass of fashion and the mould of form,  
> Th' observ'd of all observers, quite, quite down!"_  
> —Ophelia
> 
> **3:**  
>  _Time._


End file.
